


Project Cain

by RainCoveredLens, ToMarsAndBeyond3



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: And kind of yeets our pals and friends to his universe, Blatantly SHOWN child abuse, Blatantly referenced, Child Abuse, F/F, Its stressful for everyone, Like, M/M, Osmund is a child in blackwing, People are constantly just shitting on this poor boy, The universe says "fuck u and ur unhappiness", he needs hugs, reverse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-08-26 07:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainCoveredLens/pseuds/RainCoveredLens, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToMarsAndBeyond3/pseuds/ToMarsAndBeyond3
Summary: A Reverse AU.Osmund Priest is many things. A teenager, a scared little boy, and a Blackwing subject. But the universe is - quite frankly - a dick, and throws at him the one thing he cannot handle: Dirk Gently and, his detective agency, and The Rowdy 3, from a dimension certainly not his own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AaaaAaaahhh!!! It's here!!!!!! The Cain verse!!!!!!!! I have nothing to say just read! - Sam

Osmund Priest's cell was dark.

That was where he lived most days, tucked safely in the dark. The darkness was where he could not be harmed, so in a way it was like some sort of protector. He would have said guardian angel, but he didn't believe in such things. To do so would be to entertain the idea that there was a miracle out there that could save him. And as he would know, that wasn't happening.

Today was no different than any other day, but it is in fact today that we come upon. We cannot see it, but a small, underfed boy is hiding in blankets, hair like overgrown straw scratching at his eyes and those same pale eyes shut tight. He's telling himself a story, a grand tale of princes, magic and heroes feasts’. When the door starts to click - an indicator that it is opening - his eyes snap open.

“Cain, I swear, if I must come and drag you from the bed, you won’t get breakfast.” Agent Cjelli’s accented and overly annoyed voice filled the small room.

Breakfast?

“Sorry, 'course sir,” Osmund said quietly. He had taken the time to get dressed earlier, so when he stood he was ready to go. He had been left real, actual clothes today, which could only mean one thing.

A case.

With Cjelli.

Alone.

If any gods existed, Osmund prayed they'd have mercy on him.

“Be quick. Places to be.” Cjelli said, turning and heading back out the door, not bothering to see if Osmund was following. “There is something going on in the town not far from here, so that is where we are off to. Any questions?”

Osmund shook his head. Questions didn't seem like a good idea. As soon as he got within arms length Cjelli grabbed his arm, dragging him down a hall and away from the sound of footsteps. That happened, quite a bit when it came to actually leaving his room.

“Good. You will be in charge of locating the person, or persons and you will do so as quickly as possible. Is that understood?”

Oh, not again. osmund simply couldn't live up to the expectations Svlad had of his abilities. He couldn't force finding something.

“I can't-”

“You can. If you would simply do as I have instructed you, finding people would not be difficult. It is your resistance that hinders your connection to the universe.” Svlad said, sounding fairly exasperated.

“But-”

“The next thing out of your mouth had better be ‘yes, Agent Cjelli’, ‘I understand, Agent Cjelli’.”

“Yes sir.” Cjelli made a content sound as Osmund put his head down. “Sorry sir.”

“You always are now come-” Cjelli stumbled slightly, and odd frown crossing his face as he slowed. Osmund watched him for a moment, unsure if he was supposed to ask if he was alright, but Cjelli gave a shrug and continued down the hall, letting go of Osmund’s arm. “Come along, Cain.”

Osmund sighed. It was no use fighting him. It was better than Agent Brotzman.

Outside, the sky was dotted with clouds as it filled the greying sky. It fit the mood, he thought, very well. The car was so plain, it could have been replaced by anything else and no one would notice. Osmund stumbled being pushed into the car, his hands coming out just in time to save him from hitting his face.

“You’re absolutely inept.” Svlad huffed and rolled his eyes as he stalked in a tight circle to the other side. Osmund grabbed onto the leather to keep himself upright, nearly piercing into it with a grip so tight his knuckles were white.

“Why, am I in the front?”

“Because I said so. And what happen to those manners I taught you?” Svlad glared as he slid into the driver’s seat.

Manners. Osmund was too tired for this, truly. How could he be expected to pay attention when it was so bright and loud?

“You, said I’m not allowed in the front.”

“And now you are. Amazing how things change, isn’t it.”

Osmund frowned; Svlad seemed especially irritated today. “Not, real-”

“I don’t care, buckle up and be quiet.” Svlad said as he started the car and headed toward the road.The engine seemed incredibly loud, at least to Osmund. He covered his ears from it.

“Svlad-”

“Still don’t care.”

“But-”

Svlad slammed on the brakes sending Osmund, who had yet to actually buckle up, flying forward where he smacked his head on the dashboard.

“Look at what you’ve done. This all could have been avoided if you’d done as I told you.” 

“I’m, sorry.” Osmund tried to wipe some blood from getting in his eyes, but now his hands were trembling. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m, sorry.”

“Sit back, buckle up, and be quiet.” Svlad said, punctuating the sentence with pauses and hard ‘t’s.

It still took Osmund a minute to do so; now he was devolving into a full blown panic attack. It was dumb, dumb, too dumb. He hadn’t been hit. He hadn’t been hit! There was no hitting. Was panic needed? The leather of the seat was warm under him, and he curled tight to try and calm himself.

It didn’t make it better; now he was being compressed.

Svlad started the car back up again and they continued out onto the road, driving in silence for a while. Osmund’s fear was pushed along by the cars and the lights, and it took all of ten minutes before he was covering his mouth to keep the sound of his breathing down.

“What’s your problem?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“There is clearly something wrong.” Svlad muttered.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t, want to bother you, sir.” Breathe. The world was crushing him.

“Well you've failed at that.” 

Of course he had. That was so typical. Osmund bit down a cry and shuffled further away, neither of which seemed to make Svlad happy. If anything, it did the opposite.

Svlad huffed and pulled the car over, throwing it in park before turning to face Osmund.

“Explain to me what’s wrong.” He said.

“Nothin’.” Osmund’s answer came too quick. “Problem, breathin’. World ain’t good.”

“Right, well then just close your eyes.” Svlad suggested.

“Sir, please, I’m sor-”

“Osmund, just relax.” Svlad said.

“I ain’t mean to be rude sir, I ain’t, ain’t, wanna be in trouble.” Osmund covered his eyes with his hands, every muscle tense and waiting.

“It’s alright.” Svlad said, his voice getting oddly quiet. Osmund’s fingers held so tightly onto his face that he nearly caused new blood to pour over the dried trails.

Svlad gently placed his hands on the sides of Osmund’s arms. “Just breathe, alright?”

Osmund hesitated for a moment, not sure how long the intermission would last. He reached blindly out and laid against Svlad’s chest, his main goal to keep from hyperventilating. Surprisingly, Svlad didn’t push him away and held onto him gently.

“There is nothing out here that is going to hurt you. Just breathe.”

“Yes sir.”

“The world is not dangerous, it’s just sounds and lights.” Svlad continued.

But it was all so overwhelming compared to the dark. Osmund sat there, dreading when the moment would end and he would have to go back to walking on broken glass. Maybe Osmund had caught a lucky break, though.

“Can, can I eat, sir? It’s been, awhile.”

“What do you mean?”

“Agent Brotzman, says, I had to not eat since I messed, up, last time you took me off the base.”

“That was nearly two weeks ago.” Svlad said, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes- yes, sir, that happens, sometimes.” Osmund felt the urge to shrink away. Not that it would be hard. He didn’t exactly weigh very much. And Svlad, maybe for the first time, was taking in his weight, his scars, and his expression.

“Have you really not eaten?”

“It’s alright! I promise!” Osmund needed to fix this. “It ain’t that bad! I’m used to it. Please don’t go tellin’ him I told.”

“What other things does he tell you not to talk about?” Svlad asked, frowning.

“Nothing, sir, he, you’re supposed to know-”

“Osmund.” Svlad said. “What has been going on?”

His name. Osmund hadn’t heard it in years; legally, no one was supposed to call him anything but-

Maybe that was a lie too. Maybe Todd had lied to everyone.

“Not real good thin’s.”

“Alright.” Svlad said, frowning as he looked Osmund up and down. “Let’s just, find some food.”

Food? Did Svlad believe him? Did someone actually believe him?

Svlad didn’t drive right away. He was on his phone for a few minutes, texting away, before he took the wheel again. Osmund tried to wipe the dried blood away.

He needed food.

 

 

Svlad had just watched Osmund as he inhaled a whole meal, dessert, and three cookies at the diner across from a motel.

“Are, you still hungry?” Svlad asked as he slowly picked at his toast that he hadn’t managed to finish.

“No sir.” Osmund was always hungry.

“Well, just let me know if you change your mind.” Svlad said, glancing down at his phone.

“Why, ‘er we here, sir, if I can ask without casuin’ trouble.” Osmund’s voice was barely audible. 

“We’re waiting.” Svlad said without looking up.

Waiting? Had he told Brotzman? Oh gosh, he probably had. Osmund mumbled the most polite apologies he could manage, and when Svlad looked up at him, he almost looked uncomfortable.

“What?” Svlad asked.

“I- I said, I’m sorry, sir, for bein’ a bother. I can stay outta the way, I promise. I can be less annoyin’.”

“You aren’t annoying me, Osmund.” Svlad said, glancing back down at his phone.

“Ya’ only use my name when I’m annoyin’ and ya’ want me to stop.”

“I would tell you if you were.” Svlad said. He looked out the window, frowning to himself.

“Yes sir.” Something was just off. Where was the anger? The annoyance?

“Far- the director and Murdoch will be here soon. In theory.” He said, looking back down at his phone.

“No.” Oh no. Osmund stared at Svlad with an unfiltered fear in his eyes. “No Murdoch will get hurt. No you can’t Brotzman will find out ya’ can’t.”

Murdoch was one of the head doctors, and the nicest man Osmund knew. If he was in trouble, ever, Osmund would probably think of calling for Ace Murdoch first. He was like a dad.

Almost.

“He isn’t going to get hurt, that’s silly.”

“This is my fault. I’m gonna get someone killed again.” Osmund went to rub his eyes, but Svlad was overcome by an extremely uncomfortable look.

“No one is going to die.” He rolled his eyes. “Probably.”

“Why do you care, if I can, sir? Brotzman ain’t that ba-”

“That needs to stop.” Svlad said, glancing up. “You and I both know that’s not true.”

“Sir-”

“Brotzman isn’t going to be dealing with you anymore.” Svlad said.

That got Osmund to shut up. Brotzman gone? That was unlikely, and something that Osmund had dreamed about too long for it to happen. Osmund crawled into the corner of the booth, and the reaction he got out of Svlad wasn't contentness, but annoyance.

“Whatever do you think you’re doing now?” Svlad sighed, abandoning his toast in favor of glaring at Osmund. Dammit, Osmund had known the moment would be over.

“Shufflin’, sir.”

“Perhaps you could manage to sit still, yes?”

“Yes sir.” Osmund lowered his gaze to the table, settling where he was three quarters into the booth.

“Good. Now come along.” Svlad said, tossing some money down onto the table and sliding out of the booth. Osmund frowned, only a little lost.

“I thought ya’ wanted me to sit sti-”

“Are you actually going to argue with me? Come along. I won’t ask again.” Svlad said, giving a look out of the corner of his eyes that could have frozen Hell. Osmund got up without another word, climbing over but trying to stay out of arm's reach. “We’re going to wait at the motel across the street.”

The motel across the street looked anything but comfortable, despite the Comfort Inn name. It was old and clearly run down. There was a teenager sat at the front desk who looked beyond bored and didn’t even bother to look at Svlad’s identification as she swiped his card for the room.

At least it had to be more comfortable than the base. Anything was better than that.

Probably.

Or maybe it wasn't much different, because as soon as the door closed the two of them in, the day just seemed to get worse. Which might have been Osmund overreacting. He could never tell anymore.

“Take a seat, they should be here soon.” Svlad muttered, taking a seat on on of the two beds as he slowly scrolled through his phone.

“Why?” Osmund blanched, trying to catch up with his words. “Ain't no- I meant yeah, yes, I meant-”

“Just shut up, and sit down.” Svlad snapped looking up at Osmund. “What was complicated about what I asked?”

“Nothing, sir, I will. Apologies. Agent, Svlad, Brotz- Cjelli, sorr-”

He had strayed too close. Svlad reached forward and grabbed tight to the top of Osmund’s arm, dragging him to the bed and pushing him backwards. 

“Sit, down.”

Fuck. “Sir, sir.” Osmund’s hands were shaking again; Svlad hated that. “I'm sorry.”

“You’re incompetent.” Svlad huffed, turning his attention back to his phone, muttering something about Brotzman as he did.

“Please, I'm sorry-”

“This is how the next few hours are going to work.” Svlad said, tossing away his phone in annoyance. That was never a good sign. “You’re going to answer the director’s and the good doctor’s questions, you’re going to tell them everything about Agent Brotzman. Is that understood?”

“And you?”

In hindsight, Osmund would later decide that he would have been best keeping his mouth shut. Because Svlad didn't process the actual words in time for his reaction to be logical.

The slap stung, and most certainly left a visible mark on Osmund’s cheek based on Svlad’s slightly terrified look in his eyes as he processed what he’d just done.

“Just, answer their questions.” He muttered, pushing off the bed and slowly starting to pace. 

“Yes, sir.” Osmund gave a quiet nod, his hand brushing lightly over his own cheek only to pull it away in sharp pain. He shuffled backwards on the bed, trying to get back out of Svlad’s grip.

Svlad glanced over at the motion and sighed, wandering over to the small mini fridge and producing a water bottle. He walked back over and held it out to Osmund.

Osmund flinched.

“Here. This will help with the pain.” Svlad said, trying to get the water bottle closer.

“Yes, sir.” Just take the water bottle and retreat somewhere.

“And, about, questions they might have about me. You should answer them as best you can, in whatever way you feel is best.” Svlad said, placing the bottle in Osmund’s lap after a moment of standing there. Svlad’s hand brushed against his shoulder, and Osmund bit so hard on his lip he could taste iron.

“Yes sir.”

“And I know you’ll do what’s best, right Osmund?” Svlad asked.

“Yes sir.” What Osmund wanted, in all honesty, was Murdoch. 

Svlad, oddly enough, didn't seem happy with Osmund’s answers.

“Because you wouldn’t say anything that wasn’t true. Obviously. But you don’t want to be responsible for hurting people, do you?”

“I don't think people who work at Blackwing are people, all that much, sir.” Maybe one of them was. “You all only do bad things, forgive me sayin’, please, hit me if ya’ gotta.”

“Now that’s just rude, Osmund.” Svald said, and his hand got close to Osmund’s face. But instead of a sting, he gently moved Osmund’s hair out of his eyes.

“I guess murderers are rude, sir.”

Svlad paused, an odd look crossing his face. Like he was having trouble determining what to say next.

“Quite.” He finally settled on.

“I'm sorry, sir.” Why was Osmund scared this time? “Si-”

“It’s fine.” Svlad said. “And you don’t have to call me that.”

“I'm gonna get tied up somewhere, sir.”

Svlad was seeming to like Osmund’s answers less and less.

“You won’t. I assure you.” Svlad huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he wandered back toward the other bed.

Osmund wanted to hug him, he did. No one else had been permitted by Brotzman to actually give him much physical contact, if any. Which was something that Murdoch hadn't taken to liking, but he had to follow it. Though, now that Brotzman was supposedly gone, maybe that was broken. But it still stood that Svlad was the only one to ever really touch him, so it wasn't that Osmund was scared of him doing that, he was just scared of getting hit.

But there was nothing to do about it, because Svlad looked-

“Why do ya’ look scared, if I can ask, sir?”

“I don’t look scared, I look like I’m developing a migraine.” Svlad said, his eyes closed as he took a seat on the bed, carefully rubbing at his temples.

“Blackwing is evil, I think, sir.” 

There was a flicker of a moment where it felt like the air itself was different; it almost tasted like bananas. A flicker where Svlad almost looked like he was going to say something. But the moment ended, and he mumbled something about not knowing anything about Blackwing. 

Osmund went back to staring at the sheets.

 

 

Osmund knew the people they were waiting for had arrived by the slamming of a car door by a frantic sounding-

Doctor.

Svlad glanced toward the door, an odd look on his face. His headache had seemingly only gotten worse and now he looked almost, confused, at the knocking at the door. Nevertheless, he stood and pulled it open, being shoved aside by Murdoch as he nearly broke the door down.

Murdoch wasn't a tall man, but he wasn't all that shorter than Svlad. His hair was always done up in braids to keep them out of the way of his work, but now his hair was down, and his eyes found Osmund huddled on the bed in a matter of seconds.

“Oz.” Murdoch didn’t hurry over, he knew better than to rush forward, but he wasn’t slow about it either, making it to the bed in a matter of moments and taking a seat. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” No.

“Osmund.” Murdoch said, his voice lowering slightly. He always seemed to know when Osmund was lying. No matter what it was about. It was only due to his work contract and his obsessively busy schedule that no one had listened to his suspicions about Brotzman thus far.

But Murdoch was a good man.

“Please don't give me another handler. Please. I don't want someone worse.” It felt like something was breaking, and there were floodwaters waiting to be let loose. The director was in the doorway, but Osmund wasn't even looking her in the eye.

“No one is going to be worse. I promise.” Murdoch said quietly. He held his hand out for Osmund, watching closely.

“I'm sorry. Really. I'm fin-” Murdoch’s hand moved towards his face, and Osmund’s flinch was met with nothing more than the dull ache on his cheek being inflamed. Someone else was standing there too now, but Osmund still didn't pay attention.

“That looks like it hurts. I’m going to run and grab an ice pack from the car.” Murdoch said, patting Osmund’s leg as he stood and turned to look at the director who had walked over. He leaned in a little closer to her and muttered just loud enough for Osmund to hear. “That’s definitely new.”

“I noticed.” Her voice was cold, and her eyes hardened into a glare over at Svlad. “Buddy, hey, Osmund’s face is banged up. He fall down?”

“What happens if I say no?” Svlad asked, raising an eyebrow. He honestly didn’t look like he was doing all that well himself.

“I won't shoot you.” She kept glaring. “I'm here on claims you made about Osmund accusing Brotzman of abuse, but I think I have to expand that questioning a little. Did you hit him!?”

“I didn’t-” Svlad scrunched his eyes slightly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think that-”

“It would leave a mark.”

“Director, I understand the severity of-”

“You don't, Svlad. Your job is to help guide him, and Brotzman’s was to take care of him. So I'm going to ask Osmund about you, Brotzman, and then remove him from your care. You aren't fit to take fucking care of him. I have half a mind to pull his brother out of his medically-induced coma to kick your ass.”

What?

“What?” Osmund’s voice mirrored his thoughts. “Martin's dead.”

Svlad sighed as he sat down heavily in the chair, running his hand over his face as the director turned back to look at Osmund, a confused look on her face.

“Excuse me?” She asked.

“I killed him, miss.”

“And who told you that?” She asked, turning back to glare at Svlad.

“Brotzman and Cjelli, miss, that's why they picked out Cain for m-”

“What the actual fuck were you two thinking?” The director hissed. “You told him he murdered his brother?”

“Yes, well, that one was my idea. Not Todd’s.” Svlad mumbled, patting blinding for the pillow.

“Why would you admit- you know what, it literally doesn’t matter. Gun, badge, now.” She said, holding her hands out to Svlad.

Svlad mumbled something about the table, and Director Black pushed them to the far edge with something close to a growl. She stood there a moment before pulling out a tablet, and going to get closer to Osmund.

Martin wasn't dead.

Martin wasn't dead.

But what did that mean? Wasn't Martin the maniac who had tried to drown him? Surely he was the reason behind weird night terrors about the cold and the rain, two separate occurrences.

“Osmund, are you comfortable answering some questions or would you prefer to do this back at the base?”

“No, I don't wanna go back. Don't give me a new handler please.” And there was the panic. The director looked almost surprised as she took in the amount of sheer panic in his eyes.

“Osmund, it will be-”

There was a loud clap of thunder from outside and Svlad sat up straight like he had been shocked, a move Osmund had never actually seen him do.

“Please,” Osmund whispered. “The handlers are bad.”

“They all aren’t like Cjelli and Brotzman, I promise.” The director said, sighing as she took a seat on the bed in front of him.

“Can ya’ leave the light on please miss? I never see it. Brotzman keeps my light off.”

“For how long?” She asked, frowning slightly.

“As long as I'm in there, unless he comes in, which ain't good neither. I'm in there unless Cjelli takes me, miss.”

“You never leave the room?” She definitely didn’t look pleased, but unsurprised.

“I go to the hospital wing when I get too hurt.”

“And how hurt is too hurt?” The director asked.

“If somethin’ in my chest or belly or head breaks.”

“Right.” She sighed. A quick glance down at her tablet and she was starting to scroll. “So, you never leave the room and you suffer severe injuries. What's the longest you’ve gone without food?”

“Fourteen.” Osmund had had water, and he knew the number because he had counted. “He likes that number.”

“D-days?” She stuttered slightly as she looked up. “Fourteen days?”

“Yes miss.” That might have been a bad answer.

“Right.” The director set the tablet aside and stood up, turning to start pacing but paused as she watched Svlad - still sitting completely straight - watch the window. “Would you like to dispute any of this or are we going to have to wait for a lawyer?”

“I'm not sure he can read,” Svlad mumbled.

Now the director reeled back, and Osmund went completely red.

“You didn’t teach him to read!? How about you just tell me what you did do? That seems like an infinitely shorter list.”

“We don't do much reading. Running. A lot.” Svlad rubbed his face slowly. “Todd’s supposed to teach. Don't know. He makes me read things. Don't know the answer, sorry.”

“What is wrong with you?” She asked as the door clicked open and Murdoch reappeared, holding a bag and not an ice pack.

“I can too read,” Osmund tried to stand up for himself.

He was lying.

He could only just barely.

“I’m sorry, he doesn’t know how to read?” Murdoch asked, placing the bag down on the table next to Svlad who flinched. 

“I can, I can.” Hide.

“Svlad.” The director huffed and snapped her fingers in Svlad’s face. “You need to tell me which parts if your job you actually did correctly.”

“It's not my job to teach him. He might be able to. I don’t know. None. I'm tired.” Svlad really did sound exhausted.

“Nope, you don’t get to not have answers.” The director said. “You and me, outside, now.”

“I can read.” Osmund was trying not to hyperventilate. “I can, that, that sign by the door. Says. Says. Shoes, are- arn- arnet- needed, at, hom. Home.”

“Osmund.” Murdoch said quietly as he walked over and knelt down next to him. “It’s okay, you don’t have to prove anything.”

“Don't take Svlad away. No one else touches me.”

“Excuse me!?” The director almost shouted as Murdoch’s head snapped to look over toward Svlad.

“What?” Oh gosh. Osmund knew he had fucked up, but he didn't know how or why. “No one- no one's ever- no one else’s ever hugged me or not hit me. No one else is allowed to touch me because of Brotzman’s rules.”

That seemed to calm Murdoch and the director, if only a little. Svlad just looked rather lost, glancing over toward Osmund like he was seeing him for the first time.

“I'm sorry.” Osmund tried to curl down, but, something was keeping him from doing so all of a sudden.

“It’s alright, Oz.” Murdoch said quietly. “How about we go sit in the car for a little bit. Does that sound okay?”

Murdoch.

Ace Murdoch was the only person to ever truly take care of Osmund, and maybe he was the inky person who Osmund couldn't ever see abandoning him. He was almost like a father, though Osmund would never admit it. But now he reached out, slowly, and through the timespan of a minute, he wrapped his arms around Murdoch.

He had never hugged him before. Murdoch was only permitted by Brotzman to touch him to do all that doctor shit.

It felt safe.

Murdoch wrapped his arms around Osmund and carefully lifted him off the bed and headed for the door. The director watched them go and then turned to face Svlad as the door closed.

There was a thunderstorm happening outside, but luckily the car was close and unlocked. Murdoch climbed in the back with Osmund and carefully set him down in the seat, still holding on tight.

“It’s all going to be okay, Oz.” He said quietly.

“I ain't wanna go back. Blackwing is bad. I ain't want the dark again.”

“You’re not going to get stuck in the dark, I promise.” He said. “We’re going to make sure that you get the care you need.”

“No one gets care there.”

“That’s, just not true.” Murdoch sighed. “There are people who care.”

“I wish there was more than one adult who was carin’.” Osmund whispered it like a secret.

“There is.” He said. “There are so many, and I wish you hadn’t been stuck with the two who didn’t.”

“I'm okay with just ya’ carin’. I-” But Osmund didn't finish his sentence, because it would have been a lie. “I'm scared.”

“I know, but it's going to be okay.” Murdoch said, frowning and glancing back toward the door of the motel room. “Do you mind waiting here for a minute? I’m just going to go check on-”

“Murdoch!” The Director's voice called out. “Can I please talk with you? I need to figure out how the fuck to arrest Todd.”

“I’ll be right back, alright?” Murdoch asked as he pushed the car door open.

And somehow, through bickering between Director Black and Murdoch, Osmund ended up back in the motel room. Svlad hadn’t moved much and was sitting slouched slightly in the chair. He glanced over as Osmund walked in, and odd look crossing his face before going back to staring at the wall.

Osmuns tried to ignore him, stay out of arm's length, and he curled up on a bed.

“I’m sorry we lied about your brother.” Svlad said after a moment, not looking over at Osmund.

“‘M fine, thank ya’.”

“I’m positive that’s not true.” Svlad said. “What he- we did, it wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry.”

“It's alright.”

“It, really isn’t.” Svlad muttered, shuffling slightly in his seat as he glanced over at Osmund, the usual annoyance replaced with something softer. Curiosity maybe? “You’re just a child, you didn’t deserve, any of it.”

“I do, sir.”

“No, you don’t.” Svlad sighed. “The only reason you think that is because I told you that. It’s not true.”

“It is.”

“Are you going to just disagree with everything I suggest? Because that seems just a little circular.” He said, raising an eyebrow.

“Sorry.” Osmund felt the flinch in his body.

“You don’t- it’s fine.” Svlad said, looking back toward the window. “Do you ever have moments where you're positive it’s real, but nothing feels real?”

That was, odd. Osmund dared to actually get a look at Svlad’s face, and he almost looked sad. Oz pushed slowly up on his palms, folding into himself as he got into a sitting position.

“A little, sir.”

“I’m sure that, everything is real, but, it doesn’t make sense. Does that make sense?” Svlad asked, scooting forward a little and leaning on his knees.

What?

“No- no, sir.” Dammit, Osmund was so stupid. He rubbed his face, taking in a painful breath. “I'm sorry sir.”

“It’s alright. Not like it’s your fault.” Svlad mumbled. “I just fear I may be in this alone, which, isn’t new, but, it is different than what has happened in recent years.”

“Sir, please.” Was Osmund seriously crying? “I ain't know what ya’ mean. I'm sorry.”

“Oh, um.” Svlad looked up, seemingly noticing Osmund’s emotional distress for the first time. He stood and walked forward, stopping next to the bed and unsure of what to do with his hands. “Come now, don’t cry. It’s, alright, really.”

“I'm sorry.” Don't cry. “I'm sorry. I'll stop. I'll stop.”

“That’s not- it-” Svlad sighed and sat down next to Osmund, carefully wrapping him in an awkward hug. “It’s alright, you just do whatever it is you need.”

That wasn't right at all. Something was wrong here, but Osmund needed the closeness, and he turned to curl into Svlad.

“Is there something I can do to help? Or, to make you feel better?” He asked quietly, still holding onto Osmund. Whatever was going on, Osmund wasn’t going to complain about it.

“No sir,” Osmund whispered.

“You really don’t have to call me that.” Svlad muttered quietly.

Osmund chose to ignore that.

“Do you think Murdoch likes me, sir?” Osmund wanted him to. Osmund wanted Murdoch to really care. Like a parent.

“It is my understanding that he seems to be rather fond of you.” Svlad said, nodding. “He’s rather kind, I should think.”

Osmund wasn't able to respond, because he flinched. He flinched from Svlad’s hand coming up to his face, his fingers brushing along fading bruises on his cheek from being hit. There were other bruises. On his neck and down his body. But those ones weren't from Svlad, and he wasn't focusing on all the others.

“I’m so sorry about this.” He said quietly. “I know what it’s like to not deserve the way you’re being treated. You deserve better.”

That was a lie. Osmund could almost be angry, but he was just exhausted.

“I deserve what I get, sir. It ain't that bad.”

“Osmund, you’re covered in bruises, you hadn’t eaten before this morning and you never leave that cell. This is nowhere near what anyone deserves.” Svlad said, pushing back a little. He didn’t sound like himself, he sounded almost hopeful, and happy, and so very upset at the way Osmund spent his existence.

“People I meet are destined not to be good. Ain't nobody was, sir, and that's fine.” Osmund pulled his shirt closer to try to hide the bruises on his neck, which at Svlad’s angle he simply hadn't noticed. They were the reason he hadn't eaten; an enraged Brotzman was never a good thing. “I'm fine. Ain't hu-”

“What happened to your neck?” Svlad frowned, watching Osmund try to pull the shirt higher to hide the bruises.

“Nothing sir.” Shit.

“Does nothing involve Brotzman?” Svlad asked, his frown deepening.

“No, sir…” But Osmund felt an awful twist in his gut; lying would get him into even more trouble. “Yes sir.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” Asking. That was a novel concept. Osmund actually looked back up, his head tipping a bit and revealing the handprints hidden usually by the shadows his head cast.

“Did, he choke you?” Svlad asked, frowning as he inspected the the marks.

“Just a little, sir.”

“Define a little.”

“I didn't pass out this time.”

“That is an awful way to measure how good or bad something is.” Svlad sighed. “I’m sure Farah will sort it out.”

Farah? Was that Director Black? Osmund curled into himself, trying to cover the bruises on his neck. He knew that, with this rain, the Director and Murdoch would want to check him for injuries. And while the neck was just a little bit of it, it was still bad. Very bad.

Svlad sighed, his hand brushing lightly on the bruises on Osmund’s neck.

“They’ll heal, and this sort of thing won’t happen again. I guarantee it.” He said quietly. “And that doctor will be sure to take excellent care of you.”

“I, like Ace, sir.” Where was he? Osmund felt a longing in his chest for safety, and that was what Murdoch was. “I'm sorry for sayin’.”

“That you like something? You don’t need to apologize, Osmund.” Svlad said, carefully unwrapping his arms from Osmund. “Would you like me to go and find him for you?”

“I'm, alright, sir.” Yes.

“Alright.” Svlad said, looking just a bit uncomfortable and like he wasn’t quite sure what to do next. “I just thought, because you like him, more than me. But. Alright.”

“I'm in trouble.” Svlad looked almost confused at the way Osmund was shrinking away, almost like something wasn't quite right.

“What? No, not at all, you haven’t done anything.” Svlad said, giving a small sigh. “I just, have, a headache, it’s nothing you’ve done.”

“Is your head alright there?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I’m, not entirely sure.” He said. “It’s, it’s not important. I’m sure everything will make sense, eventually.”

“Do ya’ need help?”

“Um.” He glanced toward the door where Murdoch and the director’s voices could just barely be heard. “I think I might be in this one alone. But, I’m sure I can manage.”

“is it memory problems, sir?”

“I, suppose so.” Svlad said, turning back to face Osmund.

“I can help.” Maybe if he did, no one would slap him.

“Oh. Um, alright.” Svlad said. He was frowning just a little bit, but the usual indifference in his eyes wasn’t there.

That was alright.


	2. Agent Svlad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Osmund tells his story, and the intricacies of his relationship with Agent Svlad comes to light.

_Two Years Ago_  
Osmund’s wrists felt awful, and being stuck to a fucking bedside table didn't help either. Svlad was pacing the room in a huff, for no particular reason, and Osmund was stuck with his hands behind his back and his voice silenced.

Fuck.

“This is absurd.” Svlad finally said, or more, muttered to himself. “And you are incapable. I don’t even know why I bring you along anymore.”

Osmund was tied up, what was he supposed to do? Tap dance?

“You claim to have been paying attention the whole time. So, tell me Cain.” Svlad paused and turned to face Osmund. “Why should you be allowed to return to the base?”

He shouldn't. Osmund would give anything not to go back. He made a quiet sound through the gag over his mouth; was he expected to answer? Probably. Even though Svlad knew he couldn't. He was just like that.

“Why shouldn’t I take you out to the middle of that forest, where no one will find you?” Svlad continued, stalking forward. “‘He ran away director, I tried to get him back, but I just couldn’t.’”

Svlad laughed, and Osmund could see him waiting for an answer. He stopped just short of where Osmund was huddled on the ground and carefully crouched down.

“But you don’t want that now, do you Cain? You want to keep going, see the good doctor again, right?”

Murdoch.

Oh please.

Osmund made another quiet sound, and then there was a confused sort of gleam in Svlad’s eye. Like a lightbulb.

“What do you suppose he would think if you never came back?” Svlad asked, his voice quieting as he carefully ran his hand through Osmund’s hair, moving it away from his face. Osmund flinched so hard that he banged backwards into the bedside table he was tied to, trying to get away from Svlad. He was going to get hit, he knew it, that's why the hand was there.

“Now, now. Don’t get all fussy, Cain.” Svlad said, grabbing the front of Osmund’s shirt and pulling him back in close. “You know what happens when you start to over react.”

No no no.

Osmund tried to at least get out of his grip.

The hand connected with his face faster than Osmund could register the movement. A bright sting started in his cheek and his vision was fractured by tears.

“If you don’t calm down on your own, I will help you. Understand?” Svlad said, his voice cold and uncaring. Osmund only flinched a little this time, shuffling the inch of space into the bed stand. He didn't look Svlad in the eye, like usual, he just stared down.

“Come now, you want to be good, right?” Svlad asked. “If you were being good you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

He was a liar.

Osmund knew this, and he didn't make a move to respond. He thought if he stared hard enough he could disappear. Maybe he already had; Osmund couldn't tell. The gag around his mouth disappeared as Svlad leaned in a little closer.

“Are you going to answer me or shall you continue to stare?”

His face was aching with the pressure gone; his mouth felt numb.

Osmund blinked.

“Right, well when you decide not to be a worthless, comatose mess, let me know.” Svlad sighed, standing back up and beginning to pace again.

This was routine. Osmund would go silent for a few minutes, almost like his brain was trying to reboot. But five minutes came and went, and turned into thirty, which turned into an hour. Svlad had an odd expression now as he looked over at Osmund.

“You’re still not going to say anything?” He asked as he stopped pacing.

Was there a point? Osmund would say something and then get in trouble for it, and when Brotzman found out, he was in for more trouble than he could handle. It was just hopeless anyway. Even Murdoch couldn't do anything.

“Cain?” Svlad had moved forward a few feet, his frown deepening as he watched Osmund.

Osmund flinched.

He was silent.

“Osmund?” Svlad tried as he knelt down in front of him. “Are you alright?”

Osmund. That was his name. He hadn't heard it in years; Brotzman had forbade Murdoch from using it. Osmund almost looked up, he almost did, but he just flinched again from the proximity. He had to have been in trouble. If only he could just say something.

Svlad’s hand rested gently on Osmund’s shoulder, patting him carefully. “Osmund, you need to tell me what’s wrong.”

“Kill me.”

“What?” Svlad asked. His frown had been replaced by a look of surprise. “No, I’m not going to do that.”

Then what was the point?

Osmund just went back to staring.

“Was that seriously all you wanted? You just want me to kill you?” Svlad asked.

Osmund could barely hold himself together. Every emotion, every bad night and good cry, every injury and lonely hour he spent just flooded onto his face. He wanted to die, it was all that was left. It was better than Cjelli and Brotzman.

Svlad caught Osmund as he slumped forward and carefully held him as he started to cry. He knew crying would get him in trouble, but try as he might, he just couldn’t stop. And surprisingly enough, Svlad just continued to hold him. He had never touched Osmund in any positive way before, so it was odd, but he wasn't paying attention. He was completely distraught, trembling, and his hands were warm with blood from his wrists; at this angle, his shoulders could pop out of their sockets. Even his sobbing was silent.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you.” Svlad said quietly. “You’re alright.”

“Hurts.” His wrists and arms were killing him. “Please. Sorry. Sorry. Hurts.”

Svlad shuffled Osmund in his arms to get a better look at his wrists, that were still cuffed behind him, and made a small huffing sound. The cuffs were gone a moment later and Svlad was pulling Osmund to his feet and moving him toward the bed. Osmund felt the blood rush to his head, and his vision was black for a moment as he stumbled. He was hungry, he felt awful, and everything just hurt.

“Take a seat, I’ll be right back.” Svlad said, pushing him down onto the bed before heading off toward the bathroom. He was only gone a couple moments and returned with a few washcloths. 

“Do you need anything?” He asked quietly as he knelt down, taking Osmund’s hand in his and starting to dab at the bloody marks on his wrist.

Food. “Kill me.”

“I’m not going to do that.” Svlad repeated, moving on to the other hand.

Osmund closed his eyes. It was the closest to death he could get.

 

_The Present_  
Oz watched Svlad’s face as his story came to an end.

“He- I, I hit you?” Svlad asked, the look of horror on his face was almost enough to unnerve Osmund. He found it almost ironic that out of everything, that was the part that made Svlad uncomfortable. 

“Yes sir.”

“And, cuffed you?” Svlad continued. Did he really not remember?

Osmund could have sighed. He rubbed at phantom pains on his face and tried to shrug. Yes, of course. There was the quietest sound, a creak, and Osmund had to dig his nails into his cheek to stop from crying when he looked up at the door.

Murdoch would hate him now. He knew what a bad child Osmund was.

Svlad jumped up at the sound and spun towards the door where Murdoch was glaring at him.

“I- we just- he-”

“Get away from him, Cjelli.” Murdoch said, his voice unusually cold. “Preferably before I decide that pacifism isn’t the answer.”

Svlad nodded, mumbling something under his breath and moved back over to the chair, throwing sideways glances at Murdoch as he went. Once there was enough distance between Svlad and Osmund, Murdoch walked forward and knelt down in front of Osmund.

“Are you alright? Was he bothering you?” He asked, just barely loud enough for Svlad to hear him.

“No si- Ac- I- sorr-” Osmund was in trouble. He was, he was.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Oz.” Murdoch said, carefully grabbing onto Osmund’s hand. “You’re gonna come back to the base with me, is that alright?”

“Can, can I stay with you a little please?” Osmund crawled over, trying to pull Murdoch in to hug him. When he did, he was always safe.

“Of course. You’re going to stay with me until we figure out what to do next.” Murdoch said, pulling Osmund in for a hug and then picking him up. “It’s all gonna be fine, Oz, I promise.”

With Murdoch, it could be. That was a real possibility. The director’s voice was yelling over the phone outside, Svlad was quiet, and Murdoch was here.

This could be okay after all.


	3. Chaotic Tendencies

The medical ward wasn't white, though it was clean. It had long since been decorated for the kids that reside in the base, and Osmund found solace in that at least. Pale elephants and smiling tigers adorned the walls, draped in painted-on fairy lights and funny little hats. This was a place for children, not adults. Osmund was sitting huddled in a bed close to one of the doors that led out of the ward, the curtain that would be separating him from the room, pulled open and Murdoch appeared, a smile on his face.

“Alright.” Murdoch said, looking at a tablet in his hand. “We’re just going to do the regular check up and then see if there’s anything specific we need to do. Alright?”

“Do we have to?” Murdoch hadn't noticed his neck yet, which was a miracle. But he always made sure to check if his throat was injured, so that didn't bode well. Osmund asked it rhetorically; he knew the answer.

“Yeah. We need the full physical for the paperwork.” Murdoch nodded, taking a seat on the bed, right next to Osmund’s feet. “But it’ll be fine. Just like always. Better even, because you get to stay with me.”

That did sound okay.

The physical actually went rather well, up until Murdoch went to check his throat of course.

“What happened?” He asked, fingers carefully moving over the bruises as he frowned. Osmund didn't say anything, because the more of the shape that Murdoch traced, there was a realisation in his eyes that they formed crude handprints. “Did Brotzman do this?”

It took Osmund a moment to speak.

“Yesterday.”

“Did Cjelli know?”

“Not until a few hours ‘go.”

Murdoch sighed and pulled his hands back, making a few notes on the tablet before looking back up at Osmund. “Any other injuries I should know about? Pain areas?”

“No.” And there really wasn't.

Osmund jumped at the sound of the door opening.

“Ace? You here?” A voice called from near the front door of the ward. “I thought we were grabbing lunch.”

It was a warm voice, one that dripped like honey; sweet on all fronts, and yet it stuck in thr speaker's throat a little, like he was getting his words confused and catching himself just a second before they came out.

“No.” Murdoch’s voice sounded lighter than it ever had, and he had a small smile on his face as he looked in that direction. “No. Something came up. You forgot to check your work email didn't you? You know the director emailed you.”

“No one checks their work email.” The voice had gotten closer.

“Well, get it out and check it.”

“Bossy much?” The sound of footsteps was replaced by some shuffling. “I’m not seeing anything from the director. Are you sure she emailed me?”

“Babe, I love you, so much. I do. Turn your filter off.”

“The filter’s not-” There was a pause and a sigh. “It might have been filtered.”

“Might have been, yes.”

There was some light humming that quickly faded and Osmund wasn’t entirely sure whoever it was was even still there. The only evidence that the person hadn’t left was a quietly mumbled curse from the other side of the curtain.

“Matt-” Murdoch tried.

“Is this for real? The fuck did Brotzman-” The curtain was yanked back and the man who had suddenly appeared froze as soon as he spotted Osmund. “Sorry. Sorry, I’ll, I’ll just come back later. Sorry.”

This man was shorter than Murdoch, who in turn was rather tall. And his hair, it was far different from Murdoch’s curls. It was up in a neat bun and was a warm brown color. Okay, Osmund was lying; the bun wasn't neat. The man's hair stuck out in all directions, and his eyes were small and just a little too close together. But it was an endearing image it created; he looked hoe his voice sounded, sweet.

“Three,” Murdoch said under his breath. “Two. One-”

“Sorry, just, you’re Osmund right?” The man asked, tucking his own tablet under his arm. Osmund stared a moment, not sure how to respond. The man had the same badge that handlers did, which meant he was one. Which of course meant he was a bad person.

“Yes sir.”

“Oh god, no one calls me sir, that’s terrible.” The man said, taking a couple steps forward and holding his hand out to Osmund. “I’m Matt, or Matty, or Simms. Whichever really.”

Osmund was almost ashamed to flinch at the hand. Logically he knew he wasn't getting hit, but that didn't seem to matter.

“Sorry.” Matt pulled his hand back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, scare you. But, have they given you a temporary handler yet? Because I would be more than happy-”

“A what?” Oh great. “Handlers are bad.”

“What?” Matt asked. He looked genuinely surprised. “I mean, I’m kinda hovery, I don’t know if I would say bad.”

“You're just gonna hit me.”

“No, no I most certainly wouldn’t. I would never hit any of my kids.” Matt said.

He had multiple kids that he handled?

Wait, had he called then his _kids_!?

“We're just freaks. It doesn't matter.” Osmund believed it. He could believe he was an awful person, a bad kid, an abnormality.

“It does matter. What you think always matters. And you are most certainly not a freak.” Matt said. “Because if you are, then so am I, and I’m pretty sure I’m not a freak.”

Oh.

_Oh._

**Shit.**

There were holistic staff here? Murdoch had a look on his face that made Osmund frown, almost; fuck, was Murdoch holistic too? Good gods.

Osmund mumbled an apology.

“It’s not your fault you got saddled with a psychopath.” Matt said. “And if you’ll let me, I’d love to work with you until they find a permanent place for you.”

Work with? Osmund was officially beside himself. Murdoch seemed to have had his fun though, because he stood and grabbed Matt’s shoulder.

“Come on, you can come look through the database and find a good room.”

“But I was-”

“Hun. Love. Dear. Matt. Nothing is getting you off of this job. You're too soft an idiot. Jules was supposed to be temporary too.”

“She asked to stay. How is it my fault that I’m fantastic?” Matt asked, smiling lightly as he let Murdoch drag him over toward the desk and the computer.

That man was a handler? That man, he was so polite and friendly. A handler? He was more like a parent than anything, and with Murdoch no less. Osmund settled against the wall; this could work out, maybe.

Matt sat down at the desk and quickly started typing, mumbling a few unintelligible things to Murdoch as he worked. Murdoch just sighed and walked back over to the bed, snatching his tablet up and making a few more notes. He gave Osmund a smile before going back over, and Osmund was alone.

“There, all set up. Happy?” Matt said, glancing up at Murdoch. “Now can I be the temporary handler? Or are you biased and unable to have an opinion?”

“You exited without saving.”

“What? No.” Matt whined quietly, giving a huff and going back to typing. “Autosave should be a feature. I’m gonna complain to IT.”

“Mmhm.”

“There.” Matt said, hitting a few keys a little harder than necessary. “Saved, submitted. Done. Now?”

“Love.” Murdoch was laughing now. “Who’s Oleman?”

“What?” Matt frowned back at the computer. “Mother- you do it, I’m clearly cursed.”

“Nope.” Murdoch leaned against his desk. “My hands just stopped functioning.”

Osmund smiled as he watched the two of them and he was so focused he didn’t notice the hand creeping on him until it was already over his mouth.

“Make a sound, and they die first.” Brotzman’s voice was right next to Osmund’s ear.

No. No this couldn't be happening. It couldn't. Osmund didn't move, which was the same as an agreement. Brotzman carefully and quietly dragged him off the bed and toward the back door of the ward.

“You had one job. Not to talk to anyone. How difficult was that?” Brotzman hissed as they headed out the door and into a deserted hallway.

As soon as the door slid shut, everything became much rougher, and Osmund gave a pained squeak.

“Oh shut up.” Brotzman huffed, shoving Osmund forward and pulling a gun out which he placed against Osmund’s back.

He had no choice but to let Brotzman guide him forward, wishing desperately he had been more alert.

“I’m going to make sure no one finds you.” Brotzman said quietly. “You’d need a fucking miracle to be able to find all the pieces you’re going to be in.”

Oh fucking Christ.

Osmund quite nearly yelped as his head was jerked backwards, and he would have if Brotzman hadn't stopped him.

“You ruined everything.” Brotzman said, a rage unlike anything Osmund had ever seen before burned in his eyes. “Everything was great, and then you came along and ruined it. This is all your fault.”

“I did.” He knew at least that agreeing was a better option that not.

“Shut up.” Brotzman said. He dragged Osmund over toward a door that led outside and pushed him through and into the sunlight. 

It was far too nice a day to die, was all that came to mind.

Osmund only got to lay on the grass for a few seconds before he was pulled up by his hair. Brotzman dragged him over toward the main sidewalk that led to the garage. Knowing how things worked around here, it was possible that only a few people knew about Brotzman, and most certainly none of them worked in the garage.

“Fuck!” Osmund’s head was slammed into the wall, and he collapsed as Brotzman moved over to where the keys were. 

The agent behind the desk hadn’t even made it to his feet before Brotzman put him out of his misery and swiped one of the keys.

“Get up.” He huffed at Osmund. “We’re-”

“Now I know you didn’t learn those manners at home.” An all too familiar voice came from the door to the garage.

Oh, was the universe kidding? It had to be. The sight of angry, almost seething out of place punks made Osmund’s blood run cold.

“Something's wrong Boss!” The one said, Vogel. Osmund remembered him. “This doesn't look right!”

“Was it the blatant murder of that agent or the obviously terrified kid that gave it away?” Amanda asked without taking her eyes from Brotzman as she slowly walked forward. “Long time no see, bro.”

“Fuck off, Amanda.” Brotzman had the horrible warning tone; Osmund gave a sharp cry as a pain bloomed in his back.

“See, now that’s just not nice, Todd.” Amanda said, continuing forward and letting electricity crackle down her arm. “How about you let the kid go and you and me can chat?”

“What would you all know about being nice to that fucking thing?”

That one earned cries of annoyance and threatening stalking from the others. But no one disagreed with him.

“We know more than you, even if we were assholes, at least we weren’t dicks. Speaking of, where’s that oxygen sucking boytoy of yours?” Amanda smirked, letting a bolts of lightning strike the ground near Osmund’s and Brotzman’s feet. Osmund let out a weak little cry.

“You know Martin’s not dead.” Todd was smiling wider than Amanda. “That soft ass doctor has him in a medically induced coma. He went fucking insane and tried to drown that fucking kid. And you abandoned him, and left him to me. It's mine.”

Amanda had paused as she slowly processed what Todd had said. If Osmund had to guess, he could see that Amanda might not have known about Martin either.

“Let him go, Todd.” She said with a deadly seriousness.

“He's mine. You left him and let me have him. He squealed, and I swear to fuck I'm going to paint the walls with him,” Todd growled. “You don't get to be all nice after abandoning him. Twice.”

“Who says I’m gonna be nice?” Amanda asked as electricity bounced around her.

“Oh Christ.” The voice of Gripps sounded off just before a whole fucking bat was thrown at Brotzman’s head, and he collapsed. “Dramatic. Love dramatic. Too dramatic. ‘Manda.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Amanda muttered, shifting her attention away from Osmund and to where Brotzman had fallen, clutching his head.

“Nope no he's not awake long.” Gripps was humming. “What now? You smell, lots of bad emotions.”

“I’m gonna fry him. And then we can deal with everything else.” Amanda said.

“Can we not do that, Drummer?” Vogel was whispering. “I think he's less important than the other thing. I think we did a bad thing.”

“What are you on about?” Amanda asked, turning toward Vogel. “We’re dealing with the asshole. This is good.”

“But we did a bad thing to Ozzy.”

“Yeah, well.” Amanda gave a sideways glare at Osmund. “Can’t change the past now can we? I’m gonna take care of the brother problem.”

She had only made it a few more steps before slowing, an odd look on her face as she frowned. It looked almost like she was in pain, but Osmund wasn’t sure. It had been so long since he had seen her and the others.

“We did something bad.” Vogel still sounded the same. He had looked a little pained when they arrived, but now he was fine. “We did a lot of bad things Drummer. Drummer. We have to fix something. Martin- Martin’d want us to- kids. Martin would.”

“Martin’s gone.” Amanda said. She closed her eyes and grabbed the side of her head, shaking a little as she did. “We didn’t- couldn’t- everything is all, messed up.”

“Amanda, Ozzy.” Vogel said again.

Amanda turned to look down at where Osmund had fallen and the same confusion he had seen on Svlad’s face now decorated Amanda’s.

“What-” She mumbled. “How-”

Osmund made an almost inaudible sound; how hard had Brotzman kicked him? And he was paralyzed, frozen in his place by fear and hopelessness. Amanda’s frown deepened as she stared down at Osmund and then up at the building around them. 

“We, should go. Get the kid. Come on.” She said, turning her attention to the still unconscious Brotzman. “And Todd. Maybe?”

“Yeah totally not.” Cross gave a serious nod. Someone else was near Osmund, and he gave a moan.

“Well, we can’t like, leave him in Blackwing. Right?” Amanda asked, glancing over at Cross.

“I think he'll be fine, Drummer.”

“But-”

“He like, isn’t good, Boss.” Vogel said, carefully pulling Osmund to his feet. Osmund felt a spike of panic in his chest, and in his completely anxiety-ridden state he failed to actually get away. “But we should definitely get outta here. I hate this place.”

“Come on ya’.” Cross said. “I think we kinda did fucked up.”

“We can figure it out.” Amanda said as she headed back out the door, the others close behind.

Oh no.

Osmund closed his eyes, trying to block out whatever horrible shit was going to follow him.

 

“Osmund? Dude? Maybe he’s dead.” Amanda’s voice was so close. 

And that was how Osmund woke up, by flinching so violently that he banged into something.

“Oh shit.” Amanda hissed. “Are you okay?”

“No no, wait.” Osmund had barely even opened his eyes; he was dizzy. “Wait.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Amanda said, a hand landing carefully on Osmund’s shoulder. “Can we get you something? Food? Water? A blanket?”

“I'm sorry I'm sorry, wait, wait.” Just don't hit him yet. Osmund went to rub his eyes and ended up shielding his head.

“Wait, for what?” Amanda asked as she leaned back a little. The others were standing behind her, frowning down at Osmund as he started to move.

“Don't.”

“Don’t what?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Boss.” There was a soft voice somewhere nearby. Amanda glanced behind her and sighed. 

“Right. Okay.” Amanda said quietly. “You’re not in danger, I promise.”

“‘Manda, please.”

They hadn't exactly given Osmund any reason to believe them. Never. Not when they left him, not when they let him stay back with Svlad, never. Saying that was like he was a small child again, climbing on her back and begging her to find something for them to do. But now the begging was much different.

“It’s okay.” She said quietly, reaching down and wrapping him in her arms. “We’ve got you.”

No, they didn't. He knew who he wanted, but now he was probably miles away. Osmund was stiff, waiting for something bad.

“We just need to, figure out what’s going on, and then everything will be fine.” She said, sighing lightly.

“Nothing good, boss.” Gripps mumbled from where he was standing as Cross gave a hum in agreement.

“Stop it stop it now don't do that.” Osmund managed to pull away from Amanda and curl back up tight where he was laying. “Don't act that.”

“I’m not acting, what are you talking about?” Amanda asked. “Osm- Ozzy, I just, we just want to help.”

“Ya’ can't.” And then Osmund was mumbling more apologies, mainly for being rude. But they couldn't. They had abandoned him and called him a murderer. 

“We can try, can’t we?” Amanda asked. “Look, I know that, they- we, weren’t great but-”

“If ya’ ain't beatin’ the shit outta me then I'll find someone who will.”

“Osmund, we’re not going to hit you.” She said. The others were mumbling quietly behind her, tossing sideways glances at Osmund as they did. He could feel the stares burning holes in his body, and he shifted to try to ease the uncomfortable emotion, looking up at the sky.

“What are those?” Amanda asked quietly, leaning forward to get closer to Osmund. 

Osmund snapped back before she could really see something, mumbling an unintelligible ‘nothing'.

“Really? So, if you showed me your neck again, I wouldn’t find bruises?”

“No.”

“Can I see your neck then?” Amanda asked.

“No.”

Osmund was used to letting people do whatever they wanted, so he did, even with the emotions clear on his face. Amanda’s face fell as she slowly traced the outline with her finger.

“This happened, because they left you there.” She said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. 

Osmund frowned, or at least he thought he did. In reality it was more of a whimper, because Amanda had found bruises that traveled down his collarbone. Osmund knew that there were plenty more, but no one else did.

“I’m so sorry. If there was something I could do to change it, I would, I just, I’m so sorry.” She continued, pulling her hand back. Osmund curled a little more; everyone else seemed silent.

“Boss, I think we should keep him with us.” Vogel said after a moment of silence. “He’s all like, hurtin’.”

“Where's Murdoch?” Osmund’s voice was slurred; had it been the whole time. “Need Murdoch. Nice.”

“Who’s that?” Amanda asked. “Is that like, someone back in Blackwing?”

“Doctor. Real nice.” Osmund covered his eyes. “Too bright. Real bad noises. Not used’ta out. Ain't like it.”

“We’re just in a building.” Amanda said, glancing back at the others in confusion. “I like the idea of keeping him safe, but I think he needs to go back.”

“Boss, that’s Blackwing.” Vogel said, his voice becoming strained.

“Find ‘im.” Osmund could. He could feel it, an array of strings to follow leading to everything, and he needed Murdoch’s. He crawled out of Amanda’s reach as she argued with Vogel, and started to follow to where Murdoch was.

It was only a couple minutes before he heard Amanda yelp.

“Osmund, hey, hold on.” She was suddenly there, trying to stop him from moving. “Dude, Blackwing is too far to crawl to, we’ll take you back.”

“Gotta find.” Osmund almost moaned. He just, needed to. He pulled on her jacket the way he used to when learning to walk, and then stood to stumble to the door.

“Oh boy,” Cross mumbled.

“We can go together, but we’re not letting you go alone.” Amanda said, pushing her arm under Osmund’s shoulders to help keep him up. “You’re stuck with us until told otherwise.”

“Gotta find-”

“-can’t just open a door and find- oh, I suppose we can.” Svlad appeared as he pushed the door open, a genuine look of surprise on his face as he took in the close proximity of Amanda and Osmund. “Just the people we were looking for.”

“Wow.” Was all Amanda said. Osmund pulled away as he gained a little more sentience as he woke up, reaching out almost blindly for-

“Oz!” Murdoch pushed past Svlad and dragged Osmund from Amanda’s grip, pulling him in tight for a hug. “Stop disappearing. I can’t handle it.”

“Sorry.” Osmund whispered it with his voice dripping with guilt.

“It’s okay, I was just worried. Are you alright? Did they hurt you? What happened?” Murdoch said quickly, pushing Osmund back to check him over.

“Brotzman wanted to kill me.”

“Yeah, he’s been screaming as much ever since we got him in a cell.” Murdoch sighed, glancing up at Amanda. “Does psychopathy run in the family, or are you normal?”

“I mean, I'm like a witch, so, sort of.” Amanda shrugged.

What?

“Cool, so we can just add people to the incarceration list.” Murdoch sighed, pulling Osmund in a little closer. “Why did you take him?”

“Blackwing. Evil. Redhead evil. Weird. Brother Evil. Sort of funny but also not. Martin, Martin.”

“Sure. Well, on the plus side you should be able to plead insanity.” Murdoch said, continuing to pull Osmund away from Amanda.

“This is such a bad day.” Amanda started to rub her temple. “The worst day. Where's Tina when I need her?”

“Tevetino?” Svlad asked, an oddly hopeful look in his eye as he carefully made his way closer.

“The weed one,” Amanda mumbled. “Which I need, because I'm losing my shit.”

Weed? First, what was that, and second, who was Tina?

“Who works in the sheriff’s office?” Svlad continued, smiling just a little.

“You wanna go?” Amanda looked out through her fingers. “Right here. Right now.”

“It’s you. I mean, well, of course it’s you, but it’s you.” Svlad said, jumping a little as Murdoch glanced between the two of them in confusion.

Amanda narrowed her eyes, dropping her hands.

“Sharks.”

“Kittens. Pink?”

“Wendimoor. Scissors?”

“Ridiculously absurd weapons, though very effective. It’s you!” Svlad rushed forward and wrapped his arms tight around Amanda. “I thought I was alone, or insane, or going insane alone.”

“Brit!” Svlad was tackled to the ground by an overexcited Vogel, and the other two were rather quick to join. Which was just plain weird.

“Guys, you have to tone down the crazy, we get it, you’ve all clearly snapped.” Murdoch said. “Can we just go back to base, or do I need to get the tranquilizer?”

“Quiet, gay Romeo, we're busy.” Amanda rolled her eyes. “Dude. Dirk. Small child?”

“I’m as confused as you are.” Svlad said. Had Amanda called Svlad Dirk? “Though, if I were to make an educated guess, I would place all my money on alternate dimension.”

“Dude you're broke. And there's a tiny-” Amanda paused then. “Child, who, is having a panic attack. You should go.”

“Great idea.” Murdoch muttered, carefully moving Osmund toward the door. “Just, when you all decide to stop being crazy, you know where the base is.”

“Come on.” Svlad stood, rather suddenly. “I know exactly where we need to be!”

“The base.” Murdoch said, as the others slipped past and out the door. “We’re going back to the base. Right?”

“Yes. There are things to do. Good luck with your son there.” Svlad patted Murdoch’s shoulder before dipping away.

“He’s not- you’re gone, it doesn’t matter.” Murdoch sighed, carefully guiding Osmund along. He lowered his voice as he turned his attention to Osmund. “It’s gonna be okay, I’ll make sure you’re in a room this time.”

“Is Martin really alive there?”

“He- yeah. He’s in a coma.” Murdoch said as they walked out into the cool night air and over toward an SUV. The Rowdy Three looked uncomfortably at it, Svlad was draped across the front window, and Murdoch was already sighing.

Osmund pulled closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone CONFUSED:
> 
>  
> 
> The people we know from the zhow have been teleported to this universe, inhabiting the bodies of their counterparts and inheriting their memories as well as their own. Dirk came in the first chaoter and the Rowdies came in the middle of the confrontation their counterparts had.
> 
> Headcount of people teleported so far:  
> -All the Rowdies we have seen so far  
> -Dirk. Farah. Tina
> 
> The Rowdies speak a little differently here because they had a different upbringing. You'll see.
> 
> Martin is dead in their world, btw, but don't worry :))


	4. The Priest Family and Co.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we learn about and get our first look at the Priest family and their Rowdy friends; and what Ozzy's childhood looked like.

Osmund didn't have any clue why Murdoch said good luck when he left, saying that that Simms man would be in. Or, he didn't at first. There was a quiet knock at the door an Simms appeared, poking his head in with a smile.

“Osmund, do you have a minute?” He asked, stepping inside the door and waiting.

“Yes, sir.” Osmund’s room was plain, and sterile, but it was lit.

“Great.” He said, walking over to the chair next to the bed. “So, I just wanted to let you know that we got your room transfer all set up and you’ll be placed in ward B. It sounds official, but it’s just a part of the facility.”

“Ward?” How big was this place? Were there seriously more children?

“Yeah, the facility is broken into four wards and then ten floors. You’ll be in ward 4B. The recreation area is a little on the small side, but the reading area is well stocked.”

“The what? I can barely even read. The what?” Osmund knew that he knew that word. He did. He just couldn't remember.

“The, recreation area?” Simms asked, frowning just a little.

Osmund just kept looking with a blank, questioning stare.

“It’s a place where the kids are allowed to go and socialize when they aren’t doing lessons?”

“Lessons?”

“Like, school?” Simms wasn’t frowning anymore. Instead he was just looking more and more concerned.

“No?”

“Okay, well, that’s fine, we’ll just deal with it later.” Simms said, visibly pained.

“We can leave our rooms?” Now that was new. Osmund was almost scared to provoke Simms. “Like go out? If we want?”

“Yeah, of course you can. I mean, the younger kids have to be accompanied, but, kids your age are allowed to roam around.”

“Without getting in trouble?”

“Why would you get in trouble if you’re allowed to do it?” Simms asked.

“Last time I asked to go out, Agent Brotzman said I was out with Svlad and put me in a closet.”

“Right, no, that, that won’t happen anymore.” Simms said, still frowning. “You can wander around on your own.”

“Can I please see the room, sir?” This was far too much.

“Sure. Are you up for a little walk?” Simms asked, standing slowly.

Osmund was a little tired, really, but he pushed up to his feet. The room was probably dark, or small, or something awful like that. Simms could see, it looked like, that Osmund was down, so he didn't speak leading Osmund through hallways.

The room wasn't dark.

It looked more rustic, like a cabin out in the woods somewhere. There were even simulated windows, displaying a quiet night time forest and sending out sounds of crickets. Most everything looked to be made of wood, with soft cushions and bean bag chairs everywhere. And there were doors, probably to a bathroom. Or closets? Then the bed - that was a bed, that looked comfortable - was hidden behind a foldable screen. It was absolutely nothing like Osmund had seen before.

“So, it’s a little bland.” Simms was saying as he wandered over toward a small kitchen near the door. “But you can add whatever you want to make it feel more comfortable. You just have to ask your handler, or me until you’re assigned one, and we can get it ordered for you-”

Osmund hugged him.

Just this once.

Once.

“Oh, okay.” Simms said, laughing a little as he wrapped his arms around Osmund. “You alright?”

“I ain't never had a room this nice.”

“It’s pretty boring as far as the rooms go, but, I’m glad you like it.” Simms said, smiling down at Osmund. “And seriously, just let me know what you want, we can order pretty much anything online.”

“Why's it got windows?”

“To help make it feel bigger. You can set them to whatever, it’s just, the woods are like a default.” Simms said. “But it’s got mountains, and rivers, a few different beaches. And once you’re settled in, I can show you to where you pick up groceries and food. We encourage the kids to learn to make their own food to help build life skills, that sort of thing.”

“I can't read the recipes.”

“There’s video tutorials until you can.” Simms said. “And we can get you in with a tutor to work on the reading.

Simms turned away for a moment, just a moment, to reach for a dial on the wall. In those few seconds Osmund had wandered away, wrapping again around a giant dragon stuffed animal that was on the bed behind the screen.

“Oz?” Simms asked. Osmund couldn’t see him, so Simms more than likely couldn’t see Osmund. 

The windows faded from the forest to a slightly different forest scene with a small stream running through it, the sound of crickets got just a little louder and was accompanied by the bubbling of the water as it wrapped around the rocks.

“No.” Osmund’s hands clapped over his ears; he felt water warmed by the sun crashing over his head. “Turn it off.”

The sound vanished immediately and in the next moment Simms was there, sitting down and trying to find a place for his hands. 

“What is it? Are you alright?” He asked quietly.

“I ain't- I ain't like water.” Osmund’s hands were shaking as Simms slowly pulled them away from his face. “Martin.”

“Okay, no water then. No problem.” Simms said, carefully holding onto Osmund’s hands. “But you’re safe here, I promise.”

“I know, I ain't- like my feelin’s get all bad. Like I'm drownin’ again.”

“It’s alright, you don’t have to explain it to me, I completely understand.” Simms said. “We have world class counselors who will be able to help you work through what you’re feeling and find healthy coping mechanisms. You’re going to be just fine, Oz.”

“Can I have food please,” Osmund whispered, his tone suggesting he was expecting a hard no. Which, he was.

“Absolutely.” Simms said with a smile. “We just have to go get some, you don’t have any food in here yet. Are you up for a trip to the cafeteria?”

“Mmhm.”

“Alright.” Simms nodded, standing up and holding his hand out to Osmund. “Ready when you are.”

Osmund was practically attached to Matt’s side within a minute. They headed out the door and back the way they came, taking a left instead of the right towards the main entrance. An elevator ride later and a few more halls and they had arrived at a large, almost busy room that smelled absolutely amazing.

“So this is where you’ll come to get groceries and that sort of thing. Or, you can get premade food as well.” Simms said, smiling as he gestured around the room.

“Apples.” Osmund spotted a display of fruit, and his whole face lit up in excitement. “Can I have one? Can I ya’?”

“Yeah, go-” Simms hadn’t even gotten to the end of his sentence before Osmund was dashing towards the apples. 

He would just have one. Or maybe two. Surely he could fit some in his pockets. He snatched just the one though, holding it tight to protect it.

When Osmund turned back around, he spotted Simms right where he’d left him, chatting with a young girl who couldn’t have been older than Osmund. She was smiling and bouncing slightly in place, and she was also wearing a jumpsuit that matched Osmund’s, a soft blue band running across the chest.

Osmund hummed, and he realized with a sadness that he was already done the Apple. But that was fine. He would just grab another. And a banana. And pineapple.

It was with the hand-sized pineapple piece that he ducked back over to Simms.

“-and I passed the written test. Tina says she’s never seen an empath as intune as me. But, I think she was just saying that.” The girl was saying as Osmund walked back up. She turned her attention to him as Simms glanced down.

“Oh, perfect! Oz, this is Jules, Jules, Oz. He’ll be tagging along with group stuff for a little bit.” Simms said, smiling lightly.

“Famous last words.” A blonde woman with the same handler uniform as Simms walked by, slapping a smiley sticker on his head as she went.

“Yeah, didn’t you say that about me?” Jules smirked up at Simms as he rolled his eyes.

“And Milo!” The woman called as she left the cafe.

“Okay, so, I might encourage the director to let me keep charges, but you guys are awesome.” Simms said. “And besides, Osmund is a bit of a special case, the director is going to do what she thinks is best, and that’s what we’ll do. Until then, do you mind showing Oz the ropes?”

“Sure.” Jules said, shrugging. “Ain’t got a ton to do anyway.”

“Except your homework?” Simms said.

“Nah, I finished that. And chores, and meal prep, and laundry. You raised a good kid, Matty.” Jules said, grinning from ear to ear.

Osmund could hear silverware hitting plates. He could hear whispers and laughter and chewing, the kitchen working in full force and oven doors opening and closing. There were footsteps and food hitting the bottom of the trash can, chairs scraping against the floor-

“Oz? You okay?” Jules asked, frowning a little.

“Noise.”

“Oh, that’s alright. Would you like to find somewhere quiet?” She asked.

“I ain't, can't let it build up. It'll hurt.” Osmund mumbled, blinking.

“Okay, come on.” She said, grabbing his hand and pulling Osmund toward the door, leaving Simms behind. “There’s a little room just down the hall.”

“It's fine.” Osmund shook his head. “Thank ya’.”

“Do you know any breathing exercises?” She asked as they wandered down the hall and arrived at a door.

“I need- I need to go find Ace.” Osmund was sure that was what was needed to be found.

“Okay, we can go to the medical ward.” She said, smiling. “It’ll be alright, just breathe.”

That sounded like a wonderful idea. It was unfortunate that when Osmund did, there was a tight rope around his neck, and he got nothing. Jules looked a little uncomfortable as she guided Osmund down the hall, getting closer to the medical ward.

“Does this happen often?” She asked, her voice a little strained.

“Mm.” Osmund put his hand on the door he needed, and quite nearly fell as it opened. He couldn't breathe.

“Ace.” Jules called.

“What the fuck?” Said a familiar female voice. “Yo! Doctor dude!”

“Shit. Osmund, hey, what’s going on?” Ace was suddenly there, frowning down at Osmund.

“He can’t breathe.” Jules said, her voice still strained.

“Rope.” Osmund gasped, trying to pull it off.

“Alright.” Ace said quietly. “Just try to relax. Jules, you need to go. Amanda, get those pills.”

“Fuck,” Amanda was whispering. Jules was gone now, but Osmund was scratching at the rope, trying to find it.

“Osmund, there’s nothing there, you need to try and relax.”

“I know.” Osmund knew this. It wasn't real, but it hurt.

He heard Amanda nearby, and then Ace was trying to push something into Osmund’s mouth. If it was anyone else, Oz would kick and scream, but he simply let Ace do it before falling against his chest.

“It’ll be okay.” Ace said quietly. “Amanda, can you get a blanket?”

“You're wearing a blanket bro.”

“Can you just- thanks.” Ace sighed, shifting carefully and Osmund felt warmth around his shoulders. He held tightly to Murdoch, sighing as the tightness left him. “How often does this happen?”

“A lot. It's fine.”

“Why have you never said anything?” Ace asked quietly, carefully lifting Osmund up off the floor.

“I did, ya’.”

“Osmund, I would remember you telling me about having a nerve disease.” Ace said. They made it over to one of the beds and Ace set him down.

A what?

“Brotzman knew.”

“Of course he did.” Ace muttered as he started to hook Osmund up to the machines. “Well, we can assume that anything you told Brotzman was not passed along. Is there anything else I should know?”

“No, why?” Osmund looked up, a vague anxiety in his chest. “What's wrong? What ya’ doin?”

“It’s alright, just routine stuff, I want to make sure you’re okay.” Ace said, glancing up at the monitor as it started to beep.

“What's wrong?”

“I just want to make sure it is what I think it is.” Ace said, pausing for a moment, and taking hold of Osmund’s hand. “We’re gonna make sure you’re all healthy.”

Murdoch seemed both pleased and dismayed at the results a few minutes later. He muttered a few things to himself as he wandered over toward the computer. Amanda was walking behind him, looking over his shoulder and reading the sheet.

“I just don’t understand how it appeared.” Murdoch muttered up at her. “Martin’s genetic makeup doesn’t show anything that would indicate this.”

“Well, Marty’s dad was never real sick.” Osmund shrugged.

The both of them glanced back at Osmund, frowning slightly.

“Martin isn’t your full brother?”

“What's that mean? He's my brother.”

“Do you share both parents?”

“No.”

“Okay, that explains the lack of genetic commonality.” Ace said, sighing lightly.

Osmund was quiet for a moment, listening to the universe blow and echo on the walls. “He's awake isn't he?”

“He’s, not not awake.” Ace said slowly. Amanda gave him a sideways look and rolled her eyes, snatching the paper from his hands and looking it over.

Osmund's eyes went to a door. It was an unassuming door, towards the back of the ward where the private rooms were. But it was the door, Osmund knew.

He closed his eyes.

 

**A long time ago…**

“Ozzy!” Martin called, his voice bouncing down the hall as he wandered through the house. “Oz, where ya’ at?”

“Mm?” A little head poked out from the corner, blue paint on Oz’s face.

“What’re ya’ doin’?” Martin frowned, slowing as he took in the paint. Osmund with paint never ended well, especially where the walls were concerned.

“Homework.” Osmund hummed, coming around into full view. There wasn't paint anywhere else, at least. “We gotta make a earth.”

“Oh yeah?” Martin said, smiling lightly. “The guys helpin’ ya’ with that?”

“No. They’re gettin’ food.”

Martin hummed and nodded, coming to a stop in front of Osmund. He really didn’t mind taking care of his brother, and ultimately, a lot of the day to day care landed on Amanda and the guys, but Osmund was fairly easy to manage. 

“Remember how I said ya’ might need to come into work with me? Would ya’ be up for that tomorrow?”

“I guess. Can I get ice cream?”

“Don’t see why not.” Martin said, smiling. He leaned against the wall as he started to sway a little. Maybe he shouldn’t of had that last shot.

“Is Mr. Todd gone yet?” Osmund tipped his head to the side.

“Yeah, he, left a bit ago.” Martin said, nodding his head slowly.

“Okay.” Osmund was humming again. “I'mma go make an earth now.”

“Oh come on. I never see ya’ anymore.” Martin said, hooking his hand around Osmund’s arm. 

“Ya’ can come.” Osmund had a little jitter in his voice.

“Ain’t very interestin’ watchin’ ya’ do homework, now is it?” Martin asked.

“No.” Osmund mumbled, glancing at the carpet for a moment.

“Why do ya’ avoid goin’ downstairs when the others come ‘round?” Martin asked, still holding on to Osmund’s arm.

“I don't wanna bother ‘em.” Osmund gave a genuinely surprised look.

“Not even to say hi?” Martin asked. He definitely shouldn’t of had the last shot, the world was starting to blot out.

“I guess yer right. Maybe it's a rude.”

“Ain’t no guessin’, I know I’m right.” Martin said. “Ya’ gotta be more involved, Ozzy. Ain’t doin’ nothin’ worth while hidin’ away up here.”

“Yes Marty, I'm sorry.”

“We ain’t gonna bite, ya’ know.” Martin said, hearing his words starting to slur just a bit. “Ain’t like we’re gonna hit ya’. Ya’ just gotta be more sociable.”

“But, ya’ do though.” Osmund seemed almost put off now. “Did ya’ drink somethin?”

“Ain’t none of your concern.” Martin snapped, his tone quickly becoming threatening. “What do ya’ care anyhow?”

“I don't. Sorry Martin.” Osmund took a sharp inhale of breath at the outburst; Martin's whole hand fit easily around his arm.

“No ya’ ain’t. Ya’ just think sayin’ it’ll save ya’.” Martin said, huffing. “Brotzman’s right, maybe ya’ ain’t worth the effort.”

“Okay,” Osmund whispered, a pitch in his voice.

“That all you got to say?” Martin asked. “Okay?”

“Nothin’ to say. Yer right.”

Martin huffed and shoved Osmund back, sending him into the corner of the wall and earning a sad little cry.

“Should just let Brotzman deal with ya’.” Martin muttered.

There was a small sound, and Osmund finally started to cry.

“Really? Ya’ gonna cry? You’re so annoyin’.” Martin said, rolling his eyes. “Just shut it.”

“I don't wanna.”

“Well then maybe I should shut ya’ up.” Martin growled, swiping forward and getting ahold of Osmund’s arm. He gave a loud, sharp, high pitched yelp. “I said, shut up.”

“Stop it!” Osmund was just screeching, which he tended to do.

Martin couldn’t remember letting go of Osmund, or hitting him upside the head; but he did remember how deathly quiet the small boy became, how he cowered against the wall silently crying into his hands. There had been a time where this kind of thing never happened, but that was before Brotzman and Cjelli. 

“Get up.” Martin growled, looming over Osmund as they stood in the hall. Osmund grabbed at the wall, trying to find room to stand. “It’s time you learned some manners.”

With a vice like grip, Martin held onto Osmund’s arm and dragged him down the hall and through the house all the way to the basement. The boy cried and pulled, his actions becoming more desperate the closer they got to the stairs. He knew what awaited him in the darkness of the basement. 

“You’re gonna stay in there ‘til ya’ learn to behave.” Martin huffed, nearly dragging Osmund down the stairs.

“Stop it! Stop it stop it st-”

“Shut up!” Martin pushed Osmund hard against the freezer. “I don’t want to hear it, you little shit.”

Osmund kicked and screamed until Martin hit him again, and then he didn't do anything at being pushed inside the small freezer. It was around that point he covered his face. Martin slammed the door shut and turned on his heel, heading right back up the stairs.

The boy would learn. The alternative was handing him off to Brotzman, and Martin honestly didn’t hate that idea at this point.

He woke up on the couch, unsure of how long it had been with an ache in his head and the horrible feeling like he’d forgotten something. Martin rolled and saw the basement door was open and sat bolt upright.

Osmund. 

Osmund was still in the freezer.

Martin raced down the stairs and was thankful for the old freezer being broken and turned off. The whole reason it was down there in the first placed was because the seal had been damaged and it was unable to be as air tight as it had been at the start. That didn’t mean, however, that Osmund wasn’t completely unconscious when he pulled the door open.

“Oz?” Martin whispered quietly, pulling the small boy from the enclosed space. “Oz, come on, wake up.”

“No.” Osmund groaned; his lips were purple.

“Osmund, ya’ need to wake up.” At least he was able to talk, even if it was rather monosyllabic. 

The basement was freezing and Martin was sure that the freezer hadn’t been much better.

“‘M sorry.” The little boy was crying, silently. He was barely even speaking.

“It’s okay, Oz.” Martin said, scooping Osmund up into his arms. “We’ll get ya’ warmed up. It’ll be alright.”

How had he let this happen? What was he thinking? Martin tried to push hair out of Osmund's face.

But he flinched.

“Oz.” Martin said quietly. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t- ya’ ain’t- I’m just sorry.”

What was he supposed to say? Sorry for shoving you into a freezer, I was drunk and my awful friends encouraged me to do it? That just didn’t seem overly helpful.

Osmund still wasn't talking. Why wasn't he? He was a vocal kid, no matter what.

Martin carried him back up to the main level and into the living room. He placed Osmund down on the couch and carefully wrapped in a blanket.

“This won’t happen again.” Martin said quietly, trying to rub warmth back into Osmund’s arms. He felt like a broken record; it had been said before.

___

Osmund hadn't spoken in three days. Martin had been yelled at by Amanda, Gripps, even Vogel. It wasn't unexpected that someone so young would yell at him, but it was still a little surprising. But it didn't matter how much anyone yelled at him, Martin couldn't get Osmund to talk, and he was still trying to remember why.

“Oz, come on. I need to know if you’re okay.” Martin said. He had put off taking Osmund in for testing as he didn’t want to stress the boy out further, but this was getting a little ridiculous. “Ya’ gotta talk to me.”

Osmund looked at the bottled water in Martin's hand, and he pulled his blanket closer, curling tighter on his bed. Martin sighed and sat down next to him.

“I know you’re upset, but I can’t make it better if ya’ don’t talk to me.” Martin said. “I just want to understand what happened.”

Osmund didn't look at him.

“Fine.” Martin said after a few more moments of silence, pushing back onto his feet. “When yer ready to chat, ya’ know where to find me.”

Osmund was always jumpy in the days after Martin drank with his friends, though he never really paid a mind to it. Osmund’s flinching was a bit more noticeable today though, because Martin hadn't gone into work, so he had nothing to focus on.

Martin paused and frowned at the jerky movement, the way Osmund flinched when Martin’s hand got too close. Again, it wasn't unusual. Just more noticeable.

“What are ya’ afraid of?” Martin asked quietly.

Osmund clutched his blanket, soft green and decorated with frogs, tighter. He shrugged.

“Ya’ can’t just hide up here forever.” Martin said. “Can ya’ at least come down and eat somethin’?”

Something Martin had said must have set Osmund off, because his face went red the way it did when he was trying not to cry.

“Oz, what’s wrong?” Martin asked. He honestly couldn’t understand what Osmund was so upset by. 

Osmund didn't say anything. Martin tried to comfort him, but as soon as he touched him he gave a loud yelp before clapping a hand over his mouth. Martin wasn't usually around in the days after being with his friends, this hadn't happened. Osmund loved just attaching himself to Martin, draping over him and tackling him to the floor.

This just wasn't the same child. He was scared.

It had to have something to do with the things he couldn’t remember. The missing chunk of time when the alcohol had clouded his memory.

“Osmund, please, what happened?” Martin asked, pulling his hand back slowly. Whatever it was, it involved Martin’s hand, and he was rather concerned about what that could mean. Osmund was still covering his mouth, and still not looking up, he shook his head.

“Alright.” Martin sighed. This was clearly causing Osmund distress. “I’ll just have ‘Manda come up when she gets back.”

Martin saw an unfinished project on Osmund’s bedstand, a dried up tube of blue paint strewn across the paper. A very faint memory of Osmund with paint smeared on his face came to Martin, and he could remember seeing the paint when he had pulled him from the freezer.

He had, been doing homework, right before-

“I hit ya’.” Martin said quietly, the memories slowly starting to fall into place. Osmund finally looked up, and he smelled genuinely terrified at Martin’s realization. “That’s why ya’ get all worried about my hands.” 

How could Martin have let this happen? How could he have done this?

Osmund tried to say something, but Martin could hear his own voice in his head.

Just shut it.

Should just let Brotzman deal with ya’.

Martin huffed and turned toward the door.

“Amanda will be home soon. Ya’ should just, get some rest.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No.” Martin said, closing his eyes as he tried not to cry. “No, ya’ ain’t in trouble. Just, I think it’s best if I stay away for a bit. The others will watch ya’.”

“Why are ya’ leavin’ again? Did ya’ drink somethin’?”

“No, but, I shouldn’t be here. I’m just gonna, go downstairs.” Martin said, making it to the door. He needed to leave. He couldn’t believe he had ever let himself get that bad. Brotzman couldn’t even be blamed, he wasn’t there, and everything Martin had said, that had been all him. “Ya’ just rest.”

Martin closed the door as softly as he could, and by the time it took him to get downstairs he had made up his mind. He ignored Vogel to pull open the fridge, and started throwing the beer bottles out the open porch door.

“Hey! Man! That's dangerous!”

“Probably.” Martin huffed, moving onto the cabinet and the hard alcohol, collecting all the bottles in his arms and heading out the door, dumping them into the trash. “I’m going out, watch Oz till Amanda gets back from school.”

“I'm doing schoolwork too, Martin. My handler gave me loads.”

“And now yer babysittin’.” Martin said, making it all the way to the porch steps.

“Yo tell me you're not going out to drink again, you're like, an asshole when you do. No offense.”

Martin stopped and huffed.

“No, I ain’t. I’m just, goin’ out.” He said. How had he never realized this before, how had he been so blind?

“I guess. Cross made pasta. We saved some in the fridge. And he says that you suck and he changed the name on his legal documents anyway. Gripps said that too, but he left you a cupcake.”

“Great, you can have both of ‘em.” Martin said, nearly jumping down the stairs. “I’ll be back.”

The maybe was mumbled as he headed for the car.

“Yo! Dude!” The teenager was leaning out the window, frowning. “Come on man. Amanda has a choir thing tonight and Ozzy has an art show.”

“Vogel.” Martin growled, his tone to harsh as he spun back around to glare at him. “I’m going out. Deal with it.”

Vogel had an odd reaction too. He shrunk back and nodded, closing the window.

Great. Another thing he could deal with later. Martin turned back to the car and hopped in. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew he wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

Or at least, that was his hope.

The universe rarely cared what he wanted.


End file.
